Okay, so my ten-year-olds can't remember if they've ever received the sacrament of confession... or of reconciliation... or of penance... or of mercy.
And they cannot manage to learn the words o the Act of Contrition.
To ANY "Act of Contrition."
(Could you just say, "I'm sorry for my sins"? Five words...? Learn that? Please...? Too much?)
And they can't tell the difference between "confirmation" and "communion."
And it is impossible to get them not to write in the pages of their missals, and to write on the pages of their workbooks.
Or pick up paper off the floor.
Or not to taste the paste.
Or to keep their hands off my things.
Or to put down their phones.
Or...
Well, no matter.
Today one instigated, and the others kept going, with pertinent, insightful questions, a discussion of, I kid you not, chronos and kairos.
I love them. (Even the kid who tried to break a desk by pounding on it with his foot in a cast.)
I just love them
Sunday, 13 December 2015
The Rewards of Teaching Sunday School
Labels:
Here comes everybody,
My life,
RelEd,
rugrats,
Splendour of Truth
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